The Gang of Four
by kmd5133
Summary: John is having a bad day, but it just got better, or maybe it just got worse. Someone from John's past becomes intertwined with his new life. Some black humor, angst, mystery and friendship. Elements from The Sign of Four, TRF, and The Empty House, though it will sway from canon. J/OC, pre-J/S.
1. The good life was so elusive

**Title:** Gang of Four

**Rating:** T

**Spoilers:** Begins after S2E2, and has some plot points from the film Three Kings – go rent it if you haven't seen it...two words...one is George, the other is Clooney.

**Disclaimer: **[Insert random generality about not mine, no monetary gains, intellectual property and the public domain] and GO!

* * *

**Chapter One: The Good Life Was So Elusive**

It was just one of those days.

John had overslept and it set the mood for the whole day.

The hot water still wasn't working. "**Sherlock!**"_"I needed the copper piping for an experiment!"_

No milk left for the tea. "**Sherlock!**" _"Experiment John! Besides, it was about to go off anyway."_

He dribbled jam on the front of his last clean shirt because he just tripped over the crap left all over the sitting room floor. "**Sherlock!**" "_I didn't leave it there._" "**And I suppose the harpoon just waltzed it way over here on its own?**"

He couldn't find a pair of matching socks that didn't have a hole in one of them. "**Sher-**" Well, not really Sherlock, but it might as well be.

God, the man infuriated him. He didn't know why he stayed with Sherlock. Well, on moments of deep reflection he knew why. But, he kept that knowledge packed away and well hidden as it quite honestly unsettled him, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

The Adler woman had seen it. And, if Sherlock ever found out..._well, best not to think of it now_.

John grumbled his way out of the flat and headed off to the surgery, where Sarah gave him the evil eye for being late, as well as the case of a four year old with an upset stomach. Little Tommy Darlington's morning jam ended up decorating the front of John's shirt too.

He shook his head and hoped the day wouldn't get any worse.

* * *

Lestrade eyed John up and down. "Rough day?"

"Better than his." John sighed wearily, pointing at the body before them.

It was pissing down rain as John watched Sherlock move about the crime scene with the grace of a ballet dancer. He stared at the fluid and articulated movements as Sherlock rattled off his deductions about the corpse and the trampled grass around the victim.

"Curious...poisoned dart..."

"...one legged man...the other barefoot...small..."

Sherlock dropped down on all fours and sniffed the ground. "Burning...burnt...creosote...where is there creosote...where...where?"

"That's it! John!" He bounded up and was off like a shot between the panda cars, yanking something out of a startled constable's grasp, and disappeared down an alleyway.

By the time John had reacted and taken off after Sherlock, he lost him where the alleyway crossed another main street. He looked to his left and right, but could not make out which way he had gone in the increasing downpour. He hit the speed dial on his mobile, but Sherlock didn't answer. John spun around and caught a glimpse of a running shadow, and took off after it. He ended getting himself completely turned around and nearly lost.

"Dammit! Sherlock where are you, and why don't you pick-up your damn mobile and answer!" John spat down the line to Sherlock's voice-mail.

By the time John made it back to the crime scene, he was soaking wet and miserable.

Lestrade was trying to calm down the irate constable from the K-9 unit. "He just took Toby. That's just not on Sir, that's just not on!"

John briskly rubbed his hand up and down his face several times to wipe away the rain and frustration as he prepared to smooth over another of Sherlock's 'deeds'.

As he was approaching Lestrade his mobile rang. John snatched it up quickly to his ear. "So help me God Sherlock, if you've taken that police dog..."

"Police dog?" A voice chuckled out. "Who is this Sherlock...he sounds like a bit of a laugh!"

John's eyebrows drew together in confusion. The voice sounded like...like...but it couldn't be. "Who is this?

The amused tone hadn't left the caller's voice. "Thumper, I know it's been awhile, but I thought I would have made more of an impression than that."

"Ratched." John closed his eyes and smiled.

The day just got better.

* * *

**A/N**: I'm not sure how to classify this by genre yet. I know where I'm going, but I just don't know how to get there.


	2. You must be joking

**Chapter Two: You Must be Joking**

"Ratched," John closed his eyes and smiled. "Where are you? Are you alright? Has anything...anyone?" His voice drifted away.

"Always the worrier you are, Thumper." Ratched's voice was tight, but then lightened. "None of that then. Guess who's back in the world?"

"Oh, thank God." John whispered, a broad grin spreading across his face.

"And, would you like to find out who rotated home along with me?" Ratched queried.

Tears started to well up in the corner of John's eyes. "Please don't be joking Ratched, my heart can't take it."

"Well Thumps, I don't know if you'll laugh or cry at this, but I've got Tripper and Jonesy, the twins, well one of them anyway, we lost track of Dee two pubs ago, and a few more lads from the 5th down here at The Silver...Horse...or is it The Silver Pony?" The voice became muffled as Ratched's mouth moved away from the speaker. "Oi! Tweedledum! What's the name of this dump? Right...right...The Silver Blaze in Shoreditch."

John shook his head from side to side. "Here? In one piece? Oh, God!" His whole body started to tremble.

"You heard me Captain! So you better get here in ten, otherwise you'll miss Jonesy puking all over the barmaid!"

John took one look at the vein pulsing in the constable's forehead, at Lestrade pinching the bridge of his nose to control his temper, the flare of Donovan's nostrils, and the utter look of disdain as Anderson surveyed the crime scene and answered. "I'll be there in five."

* * *

John really shouldn't have left his phone on the table while he went to the bar with Tripper to get another round of pints. It started an epileptic dance across the sticky table top as buzz after buzz of vibrating text messages arrived.

Ratched nonchalantly picked it up while the others were distracted by cat-calling at Jonesy, who was up at the karaoke machine butchering 'Roxanne'.

_'...those days are o-ver...' _

Ratched slid the unlock button, and keyed in a code. Success! Thumper always was so predictable.

9:32:18 PM Text Message Received: **John – SH**

9:32:42 PM Text Message Received: **John? - SH**

9:33:11 PM Text Message Received: **John! Nearly back to crime scene. - SH**

9:33:29 PM Text Message Received: **John, I followed the trail down to the river. - SH**

9:33:40 PM Text Message Received: **The trail went cold, they must have scarpered off in a boat. - SH**

9:34:32 PM Text Message Received: **Back at crime scene. - SH**

9:34:40 PM Text Message Received: **John! - SH**

9:34:58 PM Text Message Received: **Constable Hathaway is quite rude! - SH**

9:35:07 PM Text Message Received: **John! - SH**

9:35:10 PM Text Message Received: **John, where are you? -SH**

Ratched glanced up to see John being dragged away from the bar towards the mike by Jonesy, who slapped him on the back and heartily told him, "You're next Doc!"

John protested vehemently, but was finally goaded into taking the mike.

In chaos there is opportunity, thought Ratched. _Just, what to say?_

9:35:49 PM Text Message Sent: **Don't get your knickers in a twist Sunshine! He's with us**

9:36:00 PM Text Message Received: **WHO. IS. US? - SH**

_Tetchy this one._

9:36:15 PM Text Message Sent: **Me and some of the lads from the 5****th**** decided to liberate him from his day to day monotony**

9:36:28 PM Text Message Received: **So you're getting him drunk? - SH**

_Tetchy, but spot on._

9:36:56 PM Text Message Sent: **Why Sunshine, how do you know Thumper isn't the one getting us drunk?**

9:37:04 PM Text Message Received: **Thumper? I suppose you all have colorful nicknames? - SH**

9:37:14 PM Text Message Sent: **That we do, SUNSHINE!**

9:37:20 PM Text Message Received: **The name is Sherlock, not Sunhsine. - SH**

_Really, tetchy._

9:37:35 PM Text Message Sent:** Don't worry, we'll get Thumps to tell us what it is. And, we'll get him home in one piece.**

9:37:44 PM Text Message Received: **I would well advise you to do so. - SH**

_Oh...I can feel the chill from here!_

9:38:11 PM Text Message Sent: **Well, I may have to defend myself after this, so maybe more than one piece!**

9:38:18 PM Text Message Received: **After What? - SH**

9:38:23 PM Text Message Received: **WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO JOHN? - SH**

9:38:30 PM Text Message Sent: **Gotta dash! **

** -Click to download video attachment**

It was like a blinking red button. How could you not push it? Sherlock downloaded the attachment, and clicked play. The jumpy video showed John with his arm thrown around the shoulder of one of his Army mates, doing his best impression of Steve Perry.

_'...I should've been g-o-ne! Long ago...far away...'_

Sherlock felt something in his chest constrict at the sight of a happy John with his friend. His friends. His other friends, that he had before he met Sherlock.

The video played on. "_'Oh, Sherrie_...Ratched...is that my phone? No-no, you are not videoing this! No...you are not sending that video out!'

The video abruptly ended with a shot of John rushing towards the table.

Sherlock smirked and sighed. He saved the video to a protected file and set off to Bart's to analyze the creosote scrapings he took from the scene. He was not thinking about John out having a good time without him. Definitely not.

John grabbed his phone back from Ratched. "Who did you send it to?"

Ratched quirked an eyebrow. "Someone who will not be called Sunshine."

"Oh God, it was Sherlock, wasn't it?" John scrolled back through his texts.

"Yes, Sherlock," Ratched chuckled, "stealer of police dogs and defender of proper names!"

"Tell me Thumps, who is he?" Ratched leaned forward and did an eerie impression of Sherlock's thinking pose having never even met the man.

John took a swift gulp from his pint. "He's my flatmate...my friend. We're partners..."

"Partners?" Ratched looked sidelong at John.

"I'm not gay! Partners, as in we work together! I'M. NOT. GAY!" John buried his face in his hands.

"Me thinks the good doctor doth protest too much!" Ratched stood up from the table. "And, I think we need something stiffy...um, stiffer to drink in order to discuss such philosophical comings and goings!"

John rolled his eyes. "Still not gay."

Ratched winked down at him. "Whatever you say Thumper."

* * *

John and Ratched tripped up the steps of 221b arm in arm. "Where is he? I want to meet the famous Sherlock Holmes, con-con...confounded defective!"

John sniggered into Thumper's neck. "Consulting detective. Consulting! And, he's not here. No twirly coat. No sharp cheekbones!"

"Then, I think now would be a good time to prove whether you're gay or not." Ratched grabbed John's lapels and pulled him face to face for a searing kiss.

They stumbled up the steps to John's bedroom, leaving articles of clothing behind them on the upper landing.

_'I am not gay...I am not gay'_ played like a mantra going over and over in John's head. His hands scrambled for purchase on the bed linens. "Oh...oh...Sherl-" and he clamped his mouth shut.

A stony face popped up to glare at him. "You did not just call out your male, 'we're just friends', flatmate's name when I'm going down on you!"

"No!" John attempted to deny it, but he was such a terrible liar. "Mary, I'm sorry!"

"I told you so just doesn't seem appropriate right now. And, dammit John! Do you know how long it's been since I've gotten off with anyone?"

John groaned into his pillow, his erection sinking faster than the Titanic. "I'm so sorry Mary. It's just...it's just...I'm NOT gay."

Mary flopped down next to John and snickered. "Yeah, I believed that right up until you started saying a bloke's name!"

"Maybe, I'm bi-?" John chewed on his lower lip.

Mary curled herself around John's body and held him. She gave him a soft kiss at his jaw. "Nope, I'm sorry Captain Watson, you are a flaming queen!"

John turned into Mary's embrace. "No, that would be Mycroft."

Mary arched her eyebrows. "And who is Mycroft?"

"Sherlock's older brother." John sighed, "He'll kill me, you can't say a thing! Not to either of them!"

"Sherlock and Mycroft? And he said we had colorful nicknames!" Mary giggled and tightened her grip around John.

"Ratched?" John quietly whispered.

"Yes, Thumper?"

John hesitated. "Are we okay? I mean, are we fine?"

Lt. Mary 'Nurse Ratched' Morstan of the QARANC who had looked in the eyes of many a wounded soldier to see the desperation swimming there answered as truthfully as she always would. "We're more than fine. We're golden."

John smiled to himself. What a way to end the day.


	3. I had to regain my self respect

**Chapter Three: I had to regain my self respect**

John awoke to soft brown eyes peering at him. He nuzzled closer to Mary's soft body. "Morning, Ratch."

"Mm-hmm, morning." Mary kissed him on the forehead.

Seeing this as a sign of encouragement, John turned his face up to hers. "We could still...you know...if you want?"

"Oh, Thumper," Mary sighed, "I think you need to get your head straight first." And then she grinned wickedly. "The head that's up here," as she plonked him on the forehead she just kissed. "And then the little head will follow."

"Hey!" John admonished her. "It's anything but little! And, I still don't think I'm gay. There is just this weird thing about Sherlock, I don't know what it is...well, maybe I do...but I've been ignoring it, to be honest."

"What about him?" Mary extricated herself from John's grasp and started to scrounge around the floor for something to wear. She settled on John's wife-beater undershirt and his boxers.

John shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know really. He's said that women aren't his area, but there was this woman recently, but I think it was more her mind than the physical attraction of her body. And as for blokes, I really wouldn't know."

Mary smirked at him. "Sock puppets?"

"Ha-ha." John threw his pillow at her which she dodged easily. "He certainly doesn't go out on dates, at least not since I've known him. Whenever he does got out anywhere...it's only with...me." He looked sheepishly down at his hands.

Mary 'oh she could have the Devil in her sometimes' Morstan decided to help out. "Do you want me to find out?"

John shot out of the bed. "No Ratched. Just...NO!"

She grinned at him. "Oh come on Thumper. I won't be obvious. And, it's not like your gaydar is working anyway."

John gripped his face in his hands and shook his head from side to side. "Ratched!"

"Besides," she walked over and took his hands away from his face. "You need to take care of that before you're in proper company.

He followed her gaze down his torso, and then a bit further to stare at his morning wood. "Oh dear Lord!"

"I'm pretty sure I heard somewhere that blue balls are painful. So, why don't you sort yourself out while I go make us some breakfast." She criss-crossed her heart and held up her right hand, palm out. "And, I swear I'll be good."

John flomped back down on the bed. What other choice did he have? "Oh...go on." He waved her away exasperatedly.

* * *

Ratched moved silently down the steps, pausing to toss articles of hers and John's clothing back up towards his bedroom door*. She rooted around her handbag for her phone, which she found and tucked into the waistband of the borrowed boxers.

She poked her head into the siting room to see Sherlock asleep on the sofa. He was still clothed in his dress shirt and trousers, but he had kicked off his shoes and socks. He had his hands balled into fists and his arms curled tightly to his body.

Ratched spied a throw across the back of one of the chairs, and gingerly began to drape it over Sherlock's sleeping form. The soft clink of her dog tags as she bent over to tuck the blanket around him, woke him instantly.

_Sandalwood. John's cheap deodorant. Beer...lots of beer. Something musky. John. A hint of tea. _Sherlock breathed in deeply._ John. Something else...something not. Not John._

Sherlock's eyes sprang open.

"Morning, Sunshine." Mary smiled sweetly at him.

"Sherlock, not Sunshine. Ratched is it?" He appraised her up and down. Not much to go on. She was only wearing John's underclothes and a bracelet from which three small pearls dangled like charms encased in silver wire. _Known facts. Served with John in Afghanistan. Face and hands more freckled than tan. Concerned eyes. Served with John._ _Doctor._ Glance at hands and well toned arms. _No...nurse. Dog tags...Lt. M. Morstan. QARANC...definitely nurse. Hair shoulder length, straight...no thought to styling...needs to be tied back readily. Mother hen of the group that included John. John. _He frowned._ She smells like John. Why should I care why she smells like John? _

"Why did you say that you would get 'Thumps' to tell you 'what yours is'..." He made exaggerated air quotes around 'Thumps'. "...Lt. Morstan?"

Mary looked startled until he pointed at her dangling tags. "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Last evening in the text, you said John would tell you what 'mine' was. What exactly were you referring to?"

"Oh that!" Mary smiled. "Your nickname. I figured he must have given you one, but he said to you're just Sherlock, as Daft Bugger and Stupid Git have already been bestowed upon others."

Sherlock gazed up at her quizzically. "And, Thumper?"

"He got that nickname for more than one reason." Mary's smile grew broader.

Sherlock prodded. "And those reasons are?"

"Well, let's just say if you ever go into cardiac arrest, John Watson will never give up on you. They will have to drag him away by force." Mary blinked away a memory and changed the subject. "Hungry?"

Sherlock tersely answered. "I do not eat while on a case."

Mary looked over his face and the bones at his wrists. "Do you have an eating disorder?"

Sherlock sighed. _Definitely a nurse._ "No."

"Lactose intolerance? Allergic to gluten?" She continued.

"No and No!" Sherlock was becoming rapidly weary of this.

"Crohns or IBS?"

Sherlock looked away and started to pout. _She was a good nurse._

Mary toned down her smile, becoming very professional. "Okay. Some dry toast then, and maybe an egg?"

Sherlock sighed. She really was a mother hen.

Mary turned and started to walk towards the kitchen when she heard Sherlock quietly say '_soft boiled_'.

He observed her as she walked away, the gears in his head ratcheting, no pun intended, up to high speed. _What does 'M' stand for? Mary...too dull. Matilda...too old. Meghan...too cute. Madison...too American. Merriweather...too preten- . _He was interrupted in his thoughts by John entering the room.

* * *

After John had 'sorted things out', he gave himself a poor man's shower of reapplied deodorant and a wet flannel run under the tap of the tiny sink in the loo next to his bedroom. He dug out a fresh pair of pants and his pajama bottoms, snagging a threadbare t-shirt before heading down to the second floor with some trepidation.

As he approached the sitting room door, he saw Sherlock all but tucked in on the sofa, his shark-like gaze drawn to Mary moving about in the kitchen. When Sherlock turned that gaze towards him, John froze momentarily. He cleared his throat and stepped into the sitting room. "Don't you look cozy?"

Sherlock flushed and bounded off the sofa, managing to get himself tangled in the blanket and face planted so fast, that John didn't even have time to grab him.

Mary who heard the commotion came running in from the kitchen. "That's IT!" The wicked smile had returned to her face. "Thumper, you've found your Bambi!"

"Mary, leave it be." John admonished her.

_Mary, how dull. _Sherlock righted and stood himself back up in no time, smoothed out his clothes while affecting a whole 'I meant to do that' air, walked towards the kitchen. "I heard you mention something about toast?"

"I've started on the pancakes and bacon for us. Your egg should be ready in a moment, Bamb-Sunsh-Sherlock." John and Sherlock glared at her before she spit out his proper name.

"I'll get the tea started." John edged cautiously into the kitchen.

Sherlock sat quietly at the table and observed them. Disjointed at first, but slowly settling into a tandem rhythm that spoke of time and closeness. His face held a slight frown that was pulled even further down when he heard the pompous tread on the stair outside the flat.

Mary found an egg cup and the plates. She was setting down Sherlock's breakfast when she took in his frown, and followed his gaze to the kitchen door. A man dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit with an umbrella crooked over one arm stood silently taking them all in with a glance. "You must be Mycroft." Mary stated plainly.

Mycroft quirked up an eyebrow at Mary, showing no hint of surprise. "Oh, must I be?"

"I'm afraid you must." Mary unleashed her dazzling 'men drop dead in her presence' megawatt smile in his direction. "John said you were a posh git-er-gentleman."

Sherlock snorted as he cracked the top of his egg with a spoon. _Perhaps not so dull after all. _

"He didn't say you were all John Steed though." Mary eyed him from head to toe. God, she needed to get off. "Would you care for some breakfast?"

"No!" Barked Sherlock.

"No, thank you, Miss...?" Mycroft countered politely.

"Morstan...call me Mary." She plated up pancakes and bacon for John and herself. "Are you sure you don't care for any?"

"Quite" Mycroft eyed Sherlock. "I just popped in to give my younger brother some information."

"Can't it wait Mycroft?" Sherlock spat as he dipped the corner of his toast in the gooey center of the egg yolk. C_ut in triangles, edges cut off._ He could actually manage to like this one. _Maybe._

"It's nothing really." Mycroft peered down his nose at Sherlock. _Oh yes it was_. "Just a minor irritation..." _A rather large one and we both know it._ "...that is beginning to fester." _We let him go._

Sherlock flicked his gaze to John, who was resolutely ignoring the bickering brothers and tucking in to his breakfast like a man who hadn't eaten for weeks, and back up to his brother's steady one. "I'm sure it's none of my concern." _Message received, now leave!_

Mycroft sighed inwardly. "Yes, well, I will leave you to your breakfast. Dear Brother, Dr. Watson, Miss Morstan."

John and Sherlock grunted out some kind of response, while Mary spoke softly. "Have a good day at work."

"Thank you Miss Morstan." Mycroft smiled wistfully, turned on his heel and left.

He had made it to the front door when he heard clattering on the steps behind him. Mary stood with a broken carnation in her hand which she placed in the buttonhole of his suit. "John Steed needs his flower." With a quick grin she darted back up the stairs.

Mycroft followed her steps until she disappeared around the landing. _Mary Morstan...must have Anthea gather the pertinent information. _He left 221b with a real smile.

Mary sat back down at the table and reached across for the butter while John and Sherlock stared at her like she had grown a second head.

Once John managed to swallow his bite of pancake, he asked Mary. "What was that all about?"

Mary shrugged. "He looked sad, is all. Damn!" She held up her wrist where she had dragged her bracelet through the syrup on her plate.

John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You've got another one!"

"What? Oh yeah." She held up one of the pearls between her thumb and index finger. "Got it shortly after you went home."

"Still no idea who's sending them?" John asked before he bit into his piece of bacon.

"No, not really. Although I'm starting to think it may be one of the creeper twins." Mary toyed with her bracelet. "And speaking if the twins, Tripper is coming 'round in a bit. Dee never showed at the crash pad, and Dum is about out of his mind since he's not answering his mobile."

Sherlock gave John a look. _How many are there, and must they all come to our home?_ "Tripper and the twins?" he mock politely asked.

John looked sheepishly at Sherlock. "Tripper is Bill Murray, excellent field medic. Without him, yours truly would not be sitting at this table."

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"And Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, that's the Sholto twins, Bart and Taddy." John continued.

"John!" Sherlock practically shouted across the table while Mary's mobile started to ring.

"Speak of the devil, it's Tripper." Mary brought the phone to her ear.

"No, that's not possible." John's voice strained in reply to Sherlock.

"How long had it been since you last saw him?" Sherlock asked carefully.

John ran his hand through his short hair pulling at the ends. "At least two years...but Sherlock!"

Sherlock tread carefully. "He was face down. It was raining. Did you ever get a good look at him?"

John's voice was choking now. "No, I took off after you and when I got back they had already loaded the body...oh God!"

Mary was shaking her head vehemently from the news on the phone plus the snippets of conversation flowing around her. "No, no NO!" she screamed. "He just got home. HE. WAS. HOME. He was safe!"

John grabbed Mary and held her while she cried, looking desperately at Sherlock. "What happened? What the hell happened?"

* * *

**A/N:** *About the bedroom upstairs. I know they haven't shown anything on the series yet, but come on, it's a four-story building. I'll give you the top floor, saying it's attic space. Mrs. Hudson's all cramped downstairs on the first floor, while Sherlock's bedroom and the main part of the flat are on the second floor. By rights, John's bedroom on the third floor should be huge, or at least have another one or two bedrooms up there. This stuff bothers me, I don't know why. I'm still trying to figure out where the door in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen leads out to.


	4. She Needed to be Protected

**Chapter Four: She Needed to be Protected**

John looked to Sherlock with pleading eyes. "How can you be sure?"

"Lestrade texted me last evening with the victim's name. They found a wallet in a bin near the crime scene." Sherlock frowned as though he personally missed something, although he was no longer at the scene when it was found. "It had not been cleaned out. It still had a wad of cash and some credit cards, as well as an expired driver's license. They were trying to verify if the address on the license was still valid."

"Oh Christ." John sucked in a deep breath.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, but even better, was what was missing!" He rubbed his hands together gleefully as Mary paled. "This case was dull, but now...now there's something!"

"Sherlock!" John's bristled and his tone told Sherlock he needed to reign in his exuberance. _Why do I think I'm attracted to this man?_

"John don't you see?" Sherlock leaned slowly across the table and gingerly held up Mary's dog tags in his palm. "His dog tags were gone, and his military identification was missing from his billfold!"

Mary's eyes rounded in astonishment. "Why would anyone take those?"

Sherlock gently let go of the tags, even though excitement was thrumming through his fingers. "I have several ideas, but I will not make judgments until I've fully inspected the body at the morgue and reviewed any other evidence that has been collected."

Sherlock bounded away from the table towards his bedroom. "John!"

John followed Sherlock's progress towards the rear of the flat as he began to stand and let go of Mary from his embrace. "I'm already ahead of you!" He turned to Mary. "We need to get dressed, we're going to the Yard."

* * *

Sherlock and John bundled Mary into a cab. Sherlock peered at her intently. "I need to know everything you know about the Sholto twins."

"I don't know what I can tell you. I knew them, but I didn't 'know them, know them', you know?"

"No, obviously I don't." It took all of Sherlock's effort not to roll his eyes and sneer. "Let's start with why you referred to them as the creeper twins."_ Why was John with this woman?_

"Careful Sherlock." John, knowing Sherlock was becoming irritated tried to keep him in check by becoming defensive.

"It's alright Thumper." Mary patted his arm. "I can't put it into words exactly. It just felt like they were always watching me, Taddy especially."

"And this?" Frowning, Sherlock ran his index finger over her bracelet. "Why do you think that the pearls were from the Sholtos?" _Why does she insist on touching John so much?_

"Well, it was strange," Mary stared out the window of the cab as London slowly crept by. "I only started receiving them once they arrived on base. We were talking about it over chow after I received the second one. Do you remember Thumper?"

John shook his head. "Sorry, not the details. Only on trying to figure out who sent them."

Mary continued, her eyes losing focus as she remembered the past. "Maybe I remember it because I thought it was an odd turn of phrase. Taddy said...Taddy said it didn't matter who sent them, as maybe I deserved them...maybe I was due."

"Due what?" Sherlock asked.

Mary shrugged and clasped John's hand earning her another slight frown from Sherlock. "I don't know, I just don't know."

Sherlock continued with his questions. "When did you receive these 'gifts', was there any special occasion or anniversary?"

"No, it all seemed random to me. Every few months for the last two and a half, maybe three years." Mary's forehead crinkled up, because she never could figure out why she was receiving them.

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. "So there are more than these three?"

"Yes." Mary looked sheepish. "Three more. I had the others made into earrings and a pendant for a necklace."

Sherlock smirked, Mary was not so noble after all. "And you never felt any trepidation about keeping them?"

"Sherlock, really!" John was close to cuffing him in the head.

"John, it's a valid question." Mary leveled her gaze at Sherlock. "I never had much, but I know well enough that you don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Sherlock gave her a slight grin. "Quite right."

John shook his head at the both of them and muttered under his breath. "Pearls bring tears."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him. "Old wives tales John?"

"It was just something my Mum used to say." John pinked at the tips of his ears as he studiously looked out the window.

* * *

The elevator doors dinged open and Sherlock strode confidently toward Lestrade's office with John escorting Mary only a half-step behind.

Lestrade was shuffling through the papers on his desk looking for the pathology report and glanced up quickly as Sherlock entered his office. He held up his hand in midair. "Before you even say anything, we haven't identified the toxin yet."

Sherlock snorted. "Of course you haven't. If you had only allowed me to analyze the dart, I could have found it in no time at all."

Lestrade gave him a long suffering roll of his eyes. "The medical examiner has narrowed it down to a paralytic. Apparently the victim suffered an allergic reaction to it. Closed his airway up right good."

"The 'victim' had a name." John spoke around clenched teeth, sudden anger boiling up through him.

Lestrade looked at John in confusion, wondering what he had said to have drawn his ire.

"Yes John, it was Bartholomew." Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder in an effort to ease his discomfort. He knew how much John hated the impersonalization crime victims and Sherlock's seeming detachment. "John and Lt. Morstan here had served together with Mr. Sholto."

"Staff Sergeant." John corrected him. "Staff Sgt. Sholto."

Lestrade realized that a little over twelve hours before both he and John had been standing over his mate's body. "Oh shit John! I'm sorry. Shite! Sorry for my language Miss...or should I call you lieutenant?

Mary gave a wave of her hand. "I've been stationed in hell for the past four years, believe me when I say that's pretty tame. And, Miss Morstan is fine or lieutenant, or...I don't care...I'm nearly out anyway.

Lestrade rose from his seat and gestured down the hallway. "Well, Miss Morstan, would you care to accompany me to the interview room, so I can get a witness statement?"

"We've interviewed Staff Sgt. Sholto's brother," Lestrade pointedly spoke to Sherlock and John, "Cpl. Thaddeus Sholto, and his friends, a Lt. William Murray, and a one Lance Cpl. Altheny _'please don't ever call me that again'_ Jones."

"They're still here." Sherlock stated. "I need to speak to the brother immediately!" Sherlock started to bounce up and down on his feet, itching to get to the interview rooms.

"Sherlock, he just identified his brother's body this morning. Take it easy on him." Lestrade tried to tamp down Sherlock's zeal.

Sherlock whipped his head around to stare at Lestrade. "Curious. Why don't you think he killed the brother?"

Exasperated, Lestrade rolled his eyes again. "Sherlock! They're brothers, twins even!"

"All the more reason. Fratricide is more common than you think." Sherlock pointed out.

Lestrade gave him a cheeky grin. "Just because you don't get on with your own brother..."

John had had enough and chimed in. "Yes, we all know about the older overbearing brother and the bratty younger one. There has been a murder here, can we get back to that?"

"I'm not a brat." Sherlock sulked.

John chided him and started down the hall to the interview rooms. "If you stop pouting that lower lip, I'll believe it" _Or I'll bite it. Hell, now was not the time for that! _

Lestrade led Mary into one of the rooms, while Sherlock headed for the one across the hall. John stood in the center, not knowing which way to go.

Sherlock turned his head back. "With me John! I need you to observe their reactions to my questioning. She will be fine with Lestrade, after all, she didn't murder him." _Although I wish she did, just to be rid of her._

"And you think Taddy did?" John looked at him in disbelief.

"No, I never said that." Sherlock came back over to John, getting up close into his personal space. "You forgot the one-legged man and the other with small feet. Mary's feet are way too large."

Lestrade's voice drifted out of Interview One. "I certainly didn't. I'm not as stupid as you think I am." John heard Mary whisper quietly to him, and Lestrade proudly proclaimed "Sunshine!"

"John! Now she's got him saying it too!" Sherlock was definitely pouting now. "If he starts calling me Bambi..." _Damn that woman._

John smoothed his ruffled feathers down. "Temper, Sherlock, temper. Do you even know who Bambi is?" _God, I love it when he gets flustered. Love...what, no...like, that's it, like._

"Of course I do!" Sherlock huffed. And of course he certainly would, after he Googled it.

Taddy Sholto sat at the interview table with his head in his hands. His thinning red hair was sticking up at odd angles from where he had been pulling at it. Tripper and Jonesy were leaning up against the far wall, talking without talking.

John cleared his throat and Taddy looked up. "Doc, I mean Captain...oh man, it's Barty, he killed Barty, he killed my brother!" Taddy Sholto broke down into wracking sobs.

John sat down next to him and put both hands on his shoulders and turned Taddy to face him. "Taddy...Taddy!" John's voice took on the edge of the Captain that he was. "Corporal! I need you to focus!"

Taddy and the others in the room snapped to attention. Even Sherlock sat a little straighter in his chair.

"Now Taddy, this is my friend Sherlock Holmes. He is the best detective there is, and he's going to find out what happened to Barty. You just need to answer him truthfully."

Sherlock puffed up at John's compliment. _Friend...best detective._

"I will know if you are lying." Sherlock lasered him with his bright blue eyes.

"Oi, leave off!" Jonesy pushed away from the wall. "Taddy's square. You ask him your questions and find the bastard that done this. Then we'll take care of 'im. Doc...Doc...you tell him. Taddy's square!"

"Okay...okay...Jonesy, settle down. Sherlock is not implying anything." John looked over at Murray. "Tripper, why don't you and Jonesy go get a cup of coffee, yeah? You look wrecked."

Tripper who was always a quick one understood what John wanted. "Yeah, sounds good to me Thumper. Come on Jonesy, let's see what kind of jet fuel they've got around here." He all but herded Jonesy out of the interview room.

Sherlock waited for the click of the door before turning his full attention back on Taddy and rapidly starting pinging off questions. "You said 'he' killed him. How did you know it was a he? What have you not been telling the police? Who is the one-legged man?"

Taddy gasped and looked wildly around, his frantic eyes finally settling on John.

"It's alright Taddy." John tried to comfort him. "Tell us and we can help."

"It'll never be alright again." Taddy started to shake and shudder.

"Shite!" John swore. "Sherlock, get Ratched. She may be able to calm him down. He's having a panic attack."

"She's here?" Taddy all but shrieked. "No-no...you have to get her away. He might go after her!"

"Who is it Taddy? Who is after you?" Sherlock pressed on. "Why is '_he_' a threat to Mary Morstan?"

Taddy stared at John, desperately beseeching him. "Doc, you have to protect her!"


	5. Handouts, they got me down

**Chapter Five: Handouts, They Got Me Down**

"Doc, you have to protect her!" Taddy Sholto wrung his hands together. "If he killed Barty, I don't think he'd stop at hurting her too!"

Beseeching him, John put a gentling hand on Taddy's shoulder. "Who is after her Taddy? Who is after you?"

Taddy suddenly clammed up, shaking his head from side to side and began repeating, 'No...no...no', over and over. "I promised not to tell."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and adopted a blithe attitude. "I'll just go tell Lestrade to send Lt. Morstan home, shall I John?"

"What! No, you can't!" Taddy gasped out, raking his hands through his thinning hair. "You have to trust me, just get her away!"

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, before he realized what he was intending to achieve. He nodded his head slightly indicating he should continue.

"Well, I'm sure she's done giving her witness statement by now." Sherlock looked guilelessly at him.

"But...but..." Taddy looked back and forth from Sherlock to John several times.

Sensing Taddy faltering, Sherlock honed in on him like a predator would its prey. "If you will not speak to me, if you do not want my help, I cannot force you. But, I only find it fair to inform Lt. Morstan that you have signed her death warrant." And with that parting shot, he was out the door and confidently striding across to Interview One.

"W-wait! Mr. Holmes, please!" Taddy sprang up after him.

* * *

Lestrade glanced up at a smug looking Sherlock, as he barged into the interview room with a nervous Thaddeus Sholto close at his heel, and a resigned looking John. "Sherlock?"

"Ah, Lestrade," Sherlock winked at him quickly, before turning to Mary. "Please take a good look at Lt. Morstan, she is going to be our next victim! Unless, of course, Cpl. Sholto regains his spine."

Taddy sat down hard in the chair across from Mary, who was staring wide eyed at him.

John yanked Sherlock quickly to him and barked at a harsh whisper. "Are you sure this will work?"

Sherlock leaned close to John and breathed a short reply in his ear, causing the short hairs on the back of John's neck to stand up. "Guilt is the greatest motivator."

John turned his head to face Sherlock, standing only inches apart, their gazes locked. "I thought that was love?"

They continued staring at each other for a few moments before Lestrade pointedly cleared his throat. "Would someone like to tell me what in the blue blazes is going on?"

* * *

"Take your time, Taddy." John softly intoned.

"Yes, do take your time," Sherlock snarked, "but quickly. Can't keep Death waiting for his appointment with the young lady."

Mary, who had been sitting stunned at the table looked up sharply at Taddy and decided to pull rank. "Corporal Sholto, you will answer the man's questions."

Taddy stared dejectedly at the table.

"You will look at me while I'm speaking to you! Or, have you forgotten that I am your superior officer?" Ratched lived up to her nickname, having inspired fear in many a young soldier.

Taddy snapped up straight in his chair. "No ma'am!" He placed his hand flat upon the table and began his tale. "In order to tell the story properly, I have to start at the beginning."

Sherlock made a sweeping hand gesture that signaled him to carry on as he sat down at an angle from Taddy and Mary. John took the seat next to him.

"It's from before me and Barty even met the lieutenant."

Sherlock muttered under his breath. "Bartholomew and I."

"Not helping!" John chastised him.

Sherlock gave Taddy a false grin. "Please do continue."

Taddy picked up a pen that was laying on the table and began to fiddle with it. "It started during the Gulf War."

"But, we were just kids then. What has that got to do with us?" Mary stared incredulously at Taddy.

Taddy unsteadily continued. "Our dad, Barty's and mine that is, served in the peacekeeping forces back in the day in Kuwait."

"Oh God!" Mary gasped. "Taddy...Taddy, do you know what happened to my dad? Please tell me you know where he is!"

Sherlock rubbed his hands together. "I take it that your father served in the Middle East as well?"

Mary nodded her head, blinking back tears. "They said he went AWOL...that he was a deserter. But he never would have, my dad loved the Army. I've tried since I was fifteen to get him listed as MIA." She turned and yelled at Taddy. "I had to go live in Edinburgh permanently! Edinburgh, Taddy, when I should have been living in Surrey!"

Ignoring her outburst, Sherlock queried her. "Is that why you joined? Find out what happened to your father from the inside?"

Mary bobbed her head up and down again. "Not that it did any good with all the government red tape. That, and I didn't have any money. Since my dad was marked as a deserter, they wouldn't pay out his pension. Mum had died when I was a kid, so it was either stay with Auntie Forrester up in Scotland or find my own way on the world."

Taddy held a deep frown on his face. "He's gone lieutenant. I'm so sorry. He's dead, and has been for twenty years."

Mary took a shuddering breath to calm her rage. "Tell me what you know."

"Barty and I didn't know until a few years ago, I swear!" He looked from person to person in the small room trying to assuage his guilty feelings. "On his death bed our dad told us, but he made us swear in each others life, never to tell. But Barty is gone now and I-I...we tried to help you with what we could."

"The pearls." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, and in an aside to John said, "The creeper twins, indeed."

"Huh?" Taddy looked at Sherlock with confusion, while John tried to keep a straight face.

"Nothing." Sherlock shook his head innocently. "You were saying?"

"There wasn't much left, but we shared what we could."

"Much left of what exactly?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, his impatience at the length of time it was taking Taddy to get to the point was starting to show. "You said you would start at the beginning, but I'm afraid it is becoming like that film John forced me to watch where it starts with the ending."

"I wouldn't say forced!" John bristled. " You said you liked Memento."

Sherlock thought he was conceding by saying, "Well, it was much better than that Bond drivel you like so much, although that Craig fellow isn't so bad."

"Maybe we should just cancel movie night then?" John crossed his arms across his chest with a hurt look on his face.

Sherlock drew his eyebrows together and reached out his hand towards John. "I never said I wanted to cancel!" It was their guaranteed time together, no John going out on dates, no pub night with the lads. Unless there was a case, Wednesday nights were strictly for lounging on the sofa with a giant bowl of popcorn and a few bottles of cold lager, while John tried to enlighten Sherlock to what he'd been missing in life.

A grinning Lestrade looked back and forth between John and Sherlock. "You two have a movie night?"

Mary raised an eyebrow at John. "Would you like the jury to weigh in on this one?"

"Not now Ratched!" John blushed.

Mary smirked, because Daniel Craig and Guy Pearce were both blonde and BAMF. "I'm thinking of a word, or is it two words and it rhymes will _pay mole_."

John grumbled out. "Ratched, Taddy just told you your father's been dead for over twenty years, and you're cracking jokes!"

"I'm deflecting Thumper. You know it as well as I do. It's a coping mechanism."

John noticed as Sherlock's eyes went offline as he ran through permutations of rhyming words.

_pay...pea...pail...pale...bay...cay...quay...quail...day...mole...vole...hole..._

So he shook him hard once, to break his concentration. "Let's get back to the matter at hand, shall we?"

"John?" Sherlock blinked back into reality. "I'll figure it out eventually. Unless it is a pop culture reference. You know I tend to delete those."

Mary snorted. "Don't worry Sunshine. He'll tell you what it means when you grow up."

Sherlock shot a glare across the table at Mary. If he had hackles, the would be raised. "Sherlock. S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K." He said pointedly to her and then mumbled so softly only John could hear him. "Not Sunshine...not Bambi...not Freak."

Lestrade, sensing things were starting to spiral out, took back control of the conversation. "Cpl. Sholto, you said your father served in the military?"

"Yeah, my dad was a Major. He was in charge of the military police in his regiment, and the Cap...well Captain Morstan, Racthed's dad, was in charge of the supply depot on base. That's how they got involved in this mess."

Taddy plodded on with his tale. "It was those Americans they caught. There were three of them, and an Iraqi rebel. They had boosted a treasure out of one of Saddam's bunkers, and then hid it out in the desert. The four of them made some kind of pact and dummied up after they'd been caught."

"Or, they seemed to dummy up," Taddy spun the pen he was holding round and round. "One of the Americans that was caught worked out a deal with them to get a lighter sentence. He had a kid, and he never wanted to get involved with it in the first place. He gave up the location to my dad."

"But what does that have to do with my dad?" Mary asked him.

"Well, let's just say my dad recovered the treasure. It was mostly gold bars, but there were some jewels too. Most of it was repatriated to the Kuwaiti government, but not all of it."

Sherlock looked like he had just won a prize. "Oh, I see. Excellent plan! Untraceable gold, incalculable wealth. All he needed was some way to get it back to England undetected. Who better than the head of the supply depot? The one who makes sure everything is inspected and all the proper forms have been signed?"

Mary blanched. "No...he was a good man."

Sherlock turned to her and looked at her honestly. "A good man whose wife was dead, leaving his only child to be raised by a distant relative. It was his ticket home to be with you."

"Ratched, please, he _WAS_ a good man." Taddy interjected. "He had second thoughts after he shipped the loot home. He wanted to come clean. He and my dad argued."

Mary's eyebrows shot up. "Your dad...he didn't, oh please tell me he didn't!"

"No, I swear Ratched, he didn't murder your dad. They were arguing, and my dad said...he said your dad was screaming at him and he just started scrabbling and clutching at his chest. It must have been a heart attack." Taddy's voice started to break. "My dad tried to bring him back, honest he did. But, it didn't work and he panicked. He thought he'd be caught over the treasure, and now someone was dead."

John asked the question most needed the answer to by Mary. "Where is his body Taddy?"

Taddy's face crumpled up. "He buried him out in the desert where no one would ever find him. I'm sorry Ratched, he's lost out there forever. He knew all he had to do was keep silent if he was ever questioned about your dad's disappearance, it's not like they were mates or anything."

"And, the fact that he was the head of the MP's, he could destroy any evidence that might link the two together." Sherlock beamed with satisfaction. "It was a perfect plan, a closed loop. He just needed someone to fence the gold and jewels back in England."

Mary carefully took off her bracelet and pushed it across the table.

"That gift horse is a bit long in the tooth now isn't it?" Sherlock caught her gaze and gave her a calculating look.

"It's blood money. I don't want any part of it." She stood up from the table and started walking out. Stopping briefly at the door, she turned and looked at Sherlock. "You'll see that it gets back to whomever it belongs to, won't you?

John went to stand to join her. "No Thumper, I need to be by myself for a bit. Christ! All I wanted was a laugh last night, out with my mates, back home. Where do I go from here?" Mary asked, not really wanting an answer. She looked from face to face in the room before walking out, shoulders straight, and head held high.

As all the men watched her go, Sherlock whipped around to Taddy. "You still haven't told us who is after you."

Taddy opened his mouth to answer, and choked out the name.

* * *

**A/N:** I apologize for the long delay in updating. I tend to write stream of consciousness, and the words just wouldn't come. And, my apologies as well to the canon police, but I've given a more recent back story, to the 'four', because well, an Indian rebellion is more than a bit out of date, and as for said back story, it's a bit of the plot of the movie Three Kings, and again I tell you to go rent/stream it if you haven't seen it, it's pretty good. Or just check out the page on Wikipedia.


	6. To have ambition, was my ambition

**Chapter Six: To have ambition, was my ambition**

Taddy choked out a name, "Jack Small. He's one of the Americans."

Lestrade flipped to a clean page in his notebook and quickly jotted down the name. "We'll run him through the system and contact INTERPOL. If he's traveling under his own name or an alias, we may be able to get a hit on him if he tries to leave the country."

"You need to concentrate on the river." Sherlock spoke with confidence to Lestrade. "The creosote scrapings I took from the scene matched those from the dock pilings where Toby lost the scent trail."

"Yes, Sherlock." Lestrade looked sternly at Sherlock. "And, do you remember what I said about Toby?"

John's eyebrows rose in amusement, and he leaned forward on the table to take in Sherlock's petulant contrition as he huffed out a response. "I am not to take any police dog without express permission from his _'handler'_."

John snorted. "Handler. Don't let Jonesy hear you say that."

"What! Why? That is their proper title, is it not?" Sherlock asked John in all sincerity. "Isn't that what they do, they handle them, control them, just as Lestrade tries to handle me?"

John winced at the thought, he also tried to reign in Sherlock as well. "That is a conversation for another time, and yes, handler is the proper title, but...Jonesy was in the bomb removal unit. Believe me when I tell you they are partners."

"What is it with people and their dogs?" Sherlock flashed back to the innkeepers at Dartmoor and the trouble they caused.

"Which is why we don't have any pets." John spread his hands in a _can you see what I mean_ gesture. "I have enough trouble keeping up after you to throw a cat or dog into the mix."

"Don't be so pedantic John." Sherlock dismissed him. "We could keep bees."

"No, just—no." John shook his head and chuckled. "Bees are not pets, especially not in London."

Sherlock frowned slightly and turned back to Lestrade who was taking in the yet another turn to domesticity of the conversation with undisguised merriment. "So, the boat yard...any vessels missing?"

Lestrade sputtered a bit having been caught out grinning at the two of them unabashedly. He flipped back through his notebook until he found the entry. "Yes—yes, a cigarette boat, called the Aurora. A forty-two footer, black with red racing stripes. The harbor master has been alerted and there is a patrol boat out there right now searching for it."

"They will have most likely abandoned it. It would be interesting to see if it turns out to be found near Greenwich or Battersea Park." Sherlock drew his hands together in his thinking pose. "You should check out the CCTV for the nearest Tube stations to those areas, as well as any in Norwood or Upper Norwood."

Taddy gasped. "That's where Barty and me grew up after Dad came back. Things were quite flush after he did his tour. We moved into a big house in Upper Norwood. We were sent to boarding school, there wasn't anything we couldn't have for want of asking. Money never seemed to be an object."

"Were...seemed..." Sherlock rubbed his fingers together. "This incalculable wealth appears to have been not quite infinite."

"Yeah, well," Teddy blushed, "Dad and money were never apparently close companions. It was like it burned a hole in his pocket. Cockeyed schemes, and he drank and gambled a lot. I'm sure the fence took a good chunk of it as well. Other than the house, the only good thing he ever did with the money was send us to school."

"Do you know who the fence was?" Sherlock asked out of curiosity.

Taddy shook his head. "He never said who it was, just that some bloke from the Irish Rifles had set him up with a contact that was a made man."

Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully. It couldn't be Moriarty, he would have been too young at the time, but an inroad to an Irish gang, might turn up some interesting leads. He would have to delve into it further, but it was always tricky dealing with those loyal to their cause.

Taddy rambled on. "We had it good for about fifteen years, until the bank started foreclosure on the house while me and Barty were at Uni. Losing the house is what did Dad in."

"And that's when he told you how he came by the money." Sherlock prompted him.

Taddy took a deep breath to keep his composure. "On his death bed he told us. He also told us about Capt. Morstan's death, and he also warned us about Small. Apparently he had come 'round shortly before Dad died, I wasn't there, but Barty was. Somehow Small had found out about Dad taking the gold. Dad told him there was nothing left but a few baubles and the like that were at the pawn shop, but the man wouldn't be convinced. He finally left when Barty threatened to call the cops in, even if it damned us all."

"Small finally left them, but he said he'd be watching us all. I admit that I was scared out of my wits; I was still such a kid. And when Dad died, both Barty and I were at a loss. The bank took the house, and we couldn't pay for Uni anymore. Barty was going to be a chemist, you know." Taddy sighed and sat up straighter in his chair. "So, we both decided to join up."

"For protection?" Sherlock queried.

"A bit maybe, but more like as penance, a way to set things right, to serve others, an ambition in life." Taddy tried to convey his meaning to Sherlock and the others. "And, I don't know if it was chance or fate or providence, whatever you call it, but we met up with Ratched, and it just made sense to give her the only thing we had left. It wasn't even from the treasure, it was our Mum's own pearls." At that Taddy broke own into sobs and couldn't be consoled.

Sherlock turned in his seat to John and looked at him as if taking measure. "You were correct John."

John flushed slightly at the small praise, but confused at to what Sherlock was referring to. "About what?"

Sherlock said dryly to him. "Pearls apparently do bring tears."

* * *

Once Taddy had calmed himself down and was in more control of his emotions, Lestrade pushed back from the table and stood up. "I best see what I can do before the Army takes over the investigation."

"What! Why? Yes—yes...jurisdiction." Sherlock was put out, he knew he had leeway with Lestrade that most likely would not extend over to Army officials. Especially after stepping on a few toes at Baskerville.

"I'll see what I can do about keeping it a joint investigation, but Sherlock, he still was on active duty. They have every right to take over the case." Lestrade strode out of the interview room back to his office to get started on the additional information, as well as find out if the boat had been found.

"We'll see about that." Sherlock took out his phone and began texting.

John looked over his shoulder to see the contact Sherlock selected. "Are you sure he'll give you access after what happened at Baskerville? You'll end up owing him a favor."

Sherlock smirked at John. "In the grand scheme of things, this is but a pebble on the scales."

11:35:42 AM Text Message Sent: **Brother dear – SH**

11:35:58 AM Text Message Received: **Are you prepared to discuss the matter at hand? Diogenes 3PM – MPH**

John still looking over Sherlock's shoulder questioned him. "What matter? What's he on about Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned so John could not see what he was typing. "Nothing...it's nothing."

11:36:12 AM Text Message Sent: **NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THAT. – SH**

11:36:20 AM Text Message Sent: **I require you to not have the Army interfere with my current investigation – SH**

11:36:30 AM Text Message Received: **You have to deal with this sometime soon. - MPH**

11:36:42 AM Text Message Received: **As for your request, is this to do with your delightful breakfast companion? - MPH**

11:36:52 AM Text Message Sent: **Peripherally. – SH**

11:36:52 AM Text Message Sent: **And, I would hardly call her delightful. – SH**

11:37:08 AM Text Message Received: **Jealous of the attentions paid to your flatmate dear brother? – MPH**

11:37:14 AM Text Message Sent: **No! And not that it is any of your business anyway. – SH**

11:37:26 AM Text Message Received: **Your welfare is always my business. – MPH**

11:37:32 AM Text Message Received: **And since the good doctor has become involved in your life, his has as well. – MPH**

11:37:45 AM Text Message Sent: **We are both grown men Mycroft, and capable of taking care of ourselves. – SH**

11:37:58 AM Text Message Received: **So you have informed John about the festering issue? – MPH**

11:38:30 AM Text Message Received: **I take it from your lack of response that you have not. – MPH**

11:38:45 AM Text Message Sent: **I will handle it in due course of time. IN MY OWN WAY. – SH**

11:39:01 AM Text Message Received: **So you would not be interested in what I have found out about Lt. Morstan and your current murder inquiry, since you are doing things your own way? – MPH**

11:39:11 AM Text Message Sent: **Lt. Morstan's father is dead and buried in the Iraqi desert. – SH**

11:39:19 AM Text Message Sent:** Both her and the murder victims fathers were involved in smuggling a cache of gold 20 years ago. – SH**

11:39:28 AM Text Message Sent: **An American soldier, Jack Small, was involved with the initial theft of the gold, and is the chief suspect in the current murder. – SH**

11:39:41 AM Text Message Sent: **JS has one leg, and is currently in the company of someone with very small feet, and judging by the gait of his steps possibly an a****chondroplastic**** dwarf. – SH**

11:39:47 AM Text Message Sent: **What could you possibly tell me that I do not already know? - SH**

11:40:00 AM Text Message Received: **Jonathan 'Jack' Small aka Archibald 'Archie' Gates was arrested early this morning trying to impersonate a British non-com named Bartholomew Sholto to gain access to the base were he was billeted. – MPH**

11:40:12 AM Text Message Received:** I will ensure that you and the inestimable DI Lestrade have access to interview the prisoner. – MPH**

11:40:18 AM Text Message Received: **You're welcome. – MPH**

11:40:22 AM Text Message Received: **Diogenes, 3PM – MPH**

11:40:26 AM Text Message Sent:** Piss off Mycroft! – SH**

11:40:38 AM Text Message Received: **Language, darling brother, Mummy would be so upset. – ****MPH**

Sherlock gritted his teeth as he turned back to John. John took one look at him and knew Mycroft had baited him and he fell for it. "Why do you let him bother you so much?"

"It's not that, I missed something...I always miss something." Sherlock chastised himself. "The military ID and tags. He tried to get on the base and was caught."

"You just didn't think anybody would be as bold as you to try that." John clapped him on the back. "But this is fantastic news, they've got him!"

"Yes, isn't it fantastic!" Sherlock voice dripped sarcasm.

John ran his left hand across his forehead and scratched at his eyebrow. "Let me get this straight, the murderer has been caught, but your upset that someone else has caught him."

"Well, they caught him for impersonation, not the murder, but it's taken all the fun out of tracking him down." Sherlock sulked.

"Sherlock, this one of those times we've talked about." John scolded him.

"What does it matter? Taddy fainted as soon as he heard that Small had been caught." Sherlock gestured across the table to where Taddy was slumped in his chair.

"Still, it's inappropriate to say that it's fun." John got up from his seat to check on Taddy.

"I'll use a different word like excitement." Sherlock offered a compromise to John.

As John took up Taddy's wrist to check his pulse, he just shook his head. "I think it's more to do with timing and the company than the actual words, Sherlock."

"It bothered you, that I had said fun." Sherlock looked away from John, a pain in his chest forming. "I thought you understood. I thought you knew what I meant even if I do not say it in a socially acceptable way."

John walked back over to Sherlock and crouched down into his line of site. "I do understand Sherlock, but I won't lie and say that it doesn't sometimes bristle."

Lestrade came rushing back into the interview room. "You were right, the boat's been found near shore at Battersea Park. It's mostly underwater and a body has washed up downstream from it. It's your man with small feet."

"A dwarf?" Sherlock asked politely, hoping John would see that he could be conciliatory.

"Yeah, looks to be so. Had a Brazilian passport on him. The water did a number on it, but the tech boys should be able it get something from it."

"No need, we'll get his name from Jack Small." Sherlock said smoothly.

"What! How?" Lestrade looked back and forth between John and Sherlock, before taking in Taddy's unconscious form. "What did you do to him?"

* * *

Once Taddy had been roused, they loaded him into Lestrade's car to head to the base, with John and Mary accompanying them. Much to his chagrin, Sherlock followed in a cab with Jonesy and Tripper.

While in the cab, Sherlock needed to settle a question that had been niggling at the back of his mind. "So, I understand Jonesy, but Tripper and Thumper?"

Bill Murray spoke up. "Well, you know...Bill Murray the actor..." He pointed at himself, "and Bill Murray...me. You know, _Meatballs_!"

Sherlock looked perplexed. "What does food have to do with it?"

"No, not food, it was his character in the movie _Meatballs_." Tripper good-naturedly chuckled. "Thumper has said you're quite literal."

"And Thumper?" Sherlock asked slyly as this is what he really wanted to know. Mary had said there was more than one reason, and while her reason made sense, it did not paint the whole picture.

Jonesy guffawed and winked conspiratorially at Sherlock. "Well, probably for the same reason he got 3C as well."

"3C?" It sounded familiar to Sherlock as he briefly flitted though his mind palace. "Oh, yes, the golden automaton from that Space Wars film? That doesn't really seem like John."

"Golden auto-, no way, not that. 3C as in John 'Three Continents' Watson, better known as Thumper, because, you know, he likes to thump-mmm-her." Jonesy tried to make a rocking motion in the cab, but it didn't quite translate.

Sherlock instantly became enraged. "John Watson would never strike a woman in his life!"

"No—no!" Tripper tried to calm him down. "Not thump as is hit, although you could say hit it. Well, you know Thumper was a rabbit."

Jonesy decided to chime back in. "And what do rabbits like to do?"

"This has to do with sex, doesn't it?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Give that boy a prize!" Jonesy was red with laughter now.

"I don't know how he's getting any play with that hat though." Tripper added bemusedly.

Sherlock grimaced. "The deerstalker, unfortunately has been my bane of existence."

"No, I saw it on his blog, the picture of the two of you. You in that monstrosity and him in that old timers duffer's cap. Makes him look older than he is. He should stick to a pork pie or his regimental beret." Bill grinned from ear to ear. "No luck with the ladies in that thing."


End file.
